Deep Blue Velvet
by OnAngelWings
Summary: Sara Townsend, 1903, is a sheltered sixteen year old living in defiance of her own destiny as Nephilim. Eli Verlac, 2099, is a troubled Shadowhunter with a dark secret. And when two timelines collide, there's nothing but chaos for the past and the future...


**A/N Heyyyy! So, as you may know, my other TMI story, Silver and Shadows, is on hiatus because I have a HUGE block going on there...so I came up with this. The title, Deep Blue Velvet, is from a poem I wrote, and a stanza of the poem will be accompanying each new update. So, without further ado**...

DISCLAIMER: I bet Cassie Clare doesn't have a Spanish test to take on Friday. I DONT OWN TMI.

One– SARA

_every day you  
come to life  
all over again  
brought up by  
the Angel and  
into your heart  
return a beat._

Sara opens her eyes.  
The morning light pours in the window like a waterfall– she raises her hand, shielding her eyes. The silky sleeve of her turquoise nightgown slides back, and she drops her arm to pull it up. She blinks, but the world is still maddeningly blurry. Groaning, she pushes the curtains aside with a gentle swish noise, and slides out of bed. Her long golden hair is in snarls, so she runs her fingers through it–just as Ma'am bustles through the door.

"Madam Sara, please stop," Ma'am admonishes, flourishing the much–feared brush–Sara recoils in disgust. "You'll tangle it further. And we can–_not_ afford for it to be tangled today, hmm?"

Sara sighs as Ma'am pushes her onto the wooden stool facing the mirror. Her own bored brown eyes stared back at her from the dusty glass. "No, Ma'am."

"Because today is the day your picture will be done for Lady Fairchild, yes?"

At this, Sara perks up a bit; Lady Fairchild has a son, Charles, who she talks with often; he is one of her closest friends. "Will Charlie be there too? and..um..Uncle Henry?" the last part she adds so as not to seem overeager; it doesn't work. Ma'am knows all.

"Yes, Madam Sara."

Sara still finds it strange that Ma'am must call her Madam Sara. Ma'am is only seventeen, one year older than Sara herself. And Sara only calls Ma'am that because her first name is very long and foreign–Catarhienne? Catarianna? Cata–something or another, and she preferred Ma'am anyways.

The golden braid thumps on her back. "Finished." Ma'am says. "Now for the dress."  
...

It takes almost an hour to fit Sara with the 'dress' (death contraption, more like) that her mother has chosen for her to wear. It is green satin, a gleaming contrast to her pale skin and light hair. Sara has to admit, the lace cuffs are pretty around her elbows, making them look less bony and more regal, and she doesn't protest against Ma'am as she clips a peach–colored rose quartz necklace around her neck. "I've never seen this one before." Sara fingered the intricate carving.

"Your father sent it over this morning, Madam Sara."

"My father's back?"

Sara's father was always gone somewhere-business, usually- and when he was back she almost never found out until the day after he left again. "Is he still here?"

"Yes, Madam Sara."

Ma'am has her back turned to Sara, and as she turns Sara would swear she sees a flash of blue about her. but as soon as she blinks, it is gone–andwhy would there be any blue? Ma'am wears the uniform all maids wear– brown dress and a black jacket if it is cold. Sara let the thought completely leave her head.

"AUGH!"

Ma'am is staring in shock and horror at something by Sara's sleeve. "Madam Sara, you've torn it already!"

Sara begins to protest, before she sees the trail of forest–green thread leading away from her arm. "Oh.."

Ma'am already has cut the thread with the stitching dagger and is busy sewing the rip. Sara tries not to move.

"Ouch." Ma'am mutters. Sara sees a bead of blood appear on the young woman's finger. And again, when she blinks, it is gone.

BONGGGGG. BONGGGGG. BONGGGG. The clock tolls nine times before stopping. Ma'am turns pale. "We must go!" And in a swish of brown skirt, she is gone. Sara rushes after her, only stopping for a book she had left on the table the night before, and an apple. She bites into the apple, but doesn't look at the book– she is sure that it is hers.

They get into the secondary carriage awaiting out front, and soon they are off, Sara and Ma'am trundling off to the Fairchild Manor.

After what seems like an eternity of waiting, the horses neigh and falter, and Sara practically leaps– well, as best she can leap in the green death contraption– out of the carriage towards Charles...who is standing with another girl amd boy behind him.

Sara looks them up and down. The girl is in a sky blue–and–gray dress. She is fourteen, fifteen, somewhere around there, with long raven–black hair and piercing blue eyes. The boy has light brown hair, a stiff face, and his hands in the pockets of his suit as he draws picturs in the grass that only he can see. He is somewhere around sixteen, as far as Sara can tell.

The girl steps forward. "I am Anna Lightwood." she says,"I assume you are Sarabelle Townsend?"

Sara winces. She cannot stand her first name. "Sara, please. and you are–" she turned to the boy. He looks up, surprised. "Oh? Christopher Lightwood. You're Sara Townsend." Sara nods. Christopher smiles. "Charlie's told us so much about you."

"Should I be pleased or worried?" Sara asks, grinning back.

"It's too soon to tell." says Christopher, pretending to think about it. "But I'd say both."

Charlie makes a noise, and Sara realizes that in greeting the boy with the pretty smile–oh no, she did NOT just think that– she had forgotten to acknowledge him.

"Hello to you too, Sarabelle." he says, mockingly. He knows how much she hates her name.

"And hello to you, Charles Buford Fairchild."

He sneers at her. 'Buford' had been a brilliant idea of Uncle Henry's, and while Uncle Henry was a brilliant man, he was not the best at picking names. In fact, he had wanted to simply name Charlie 'Buford' and would have, too, if it hadn't been for the good council of Lady Tessa, Lord William, and of course Lady Charlotte, whose word is law.

Uncle Henry was overruled, and while Charlie was grateful, he still cannot stand it when it is acknowledged that his middle name exists.

Anna expertly flips her long black hair over her shoulder, and Sara is instantly jealous. Her mother has long black hair like that, she thought. And her father's–while thinning– was thick and brown. Meanwhile, Sara was the miserable owner of pale gold locks that she thought would make a faery proud, but not her. "Should we head inside, Charlie?"

The dark–haired boy nods. "Father and Master Cartwright will be waiting."

Sara looks behind her to find the carriages empty– Ma'am has gone ahead of her. She hurries after Charlie, Anna and Christopher as they head off to the gates of the manor.

...

Anna squirms as she is positioned for Master Cartwright's portrait. Sara stifles a yawn. They have been here all morning and most of the afternoon–indeed, she has just finished with her death sentence of sitting. She glances at her portrait, sitting in the sunlight, left to dry. It looks just like her- if she were always stiff as stone and colder than ice. Christopher fidgets beside her, then leans over and whispers in her ear.

"Do you want to go exploring?"

"What?"

"While Anna's getting painted up. I've never been here before, and this is probably the only chance I'll ever have to see another place like this. Besides, you've been here a lot more than anyone, from what Charlie said- so you should know the general layout–right?"

Sara is confused at his words– _another place like this_– but nevertheless, is fidgety herself. "I'll go if we are allowed."

Christopher breaks into a grin. He stands and says something to his father. He returns, still smiling. "Let's go, shall we?"

They headed down the corridor into darkness.

...

Sara shivered.

This was the third room the had went into, and by far the most chilling. A cool breeze was wafting in from all directions, and the only light came from a slanted window high above them.

No. That wasn't totally true. A soft glow was coming through a doorway to a stone stairwell near the other end of the room. But Sara was busying herself not thinking about it and hoping against hope Christopher would do the same.

Instead, he crept towards it on light feet, and Sara instinctively follows.

His eyes narrow, and in one swift move he picks the glowing thing from the ground. Christopher smiles, and holds the stone out to her. Then..the world twists.

She blinks, and it is a smooth, gray rock with a patch of sunlight hitting it at an odd angle. She blinks again, and it is an angular white rock that is glowing like a star in the night. Sara tries blinking again, but it remains the stunning white.

He turns and walks dowh the staircase. "By the Angel...Sara, you've got to see this."

She hurries down..and gasps.

It looks like a mirror. In fact, if Sara hadn't had any intuition, she would have said that it was a mirror. But the reflection was of a clockwork battlefield, morphing into a dying man with striking blue eyes, and then showing a bridge with the water rippling beneath. Then it shifted to a red–haired girl, drawing some sort of design in all different but equally maddening shapes on thick paper. The girl was concentrating very hard, but when she lifted the pen from the page it all crumbled to ash. Then a blonde girl slashed at storybook monsters that surrounded her, screaming without sound at the girl fighting beside her. But then...then there was a boy.

He stared into the twisting glass with curious brown eyes. His black hair curls around his ear, and as she watches, he shifts his gaze to Christopher, who drops the stone and melts into the shadows. But Sara is enraptured. The rock, its light flickering, bounces over the floor– and passes into the mirror with a ripple spreading across. It lands at the black–haired boy's feet. He picks it up, and his sleeve slides back, revealing a long black mark– a tattoo– stretching from the crook of his arm to his wrist. He inspects the stone, then holds it up to Sara, an amused look flashing across his face. He mouths, _Do you want it or not?_

Sara nods, and turns to look at Christopher. She cannot see him anywhere. Sara turns back to the boy, who checks an imaginary watch on his wrist. Then, with a sharp breath, she steps through the glass.

The world beyond solidifies, and Sara is standing less than a foot away from the boy. He scoffs at her. "Nice dress."

She does not know how to respond, so instead she tugs the stone from his grasp and begins to turn around. But then his eyes get wide, and he shouts, "Get back!"

He pushes her behind him, and she falls to the dusty floor, coughing. The edge of a large metal box she hadn't noticed jabs into her shoulder, and she bites the inside of her mouth to keep from screaming. She sees the boy pull out a long blade–made of the same stuff as the stone?– from a back strap. In the mirror– she sees a swirl of darkness, and Christopher falling to his knees. He is engulfed in the black smoke, and then– a pair of bright yellow eyes come at the mirror, intent on going through. The boy yells and stabs the blade into the glass.

To Sara's horror, it shatters into a million pieces.

"Christopher!" She yells, in desperate hope he can hear her. "Christopher!"

A pair of rough hands grab her shoulders and force her up. A pair of brown–no, actually– hazel– eyes stare into hers. "Okay, I give. Who are you?"

"What just happened?"

"Who are you?"

"Sara. Sara Townsend."

The boy looks shocked. "Sarabelle Elizabeth Townsend?"

"How do you know my name?!"

"What year do you think this is?"

Sara rolls her eyes. "Why would that matter? Tell me what happened."

"You tell me what year it is and I tell you what just happened."

Sara's eyebrows furrow. "The Year of Our Angel 1903."

She felt slightly self conscious saying it, as most children were raised in a nice Christian household where they said 'our Lord' but her parents had insisted on using the Angel. Maybe it was just them...but Christopher, less than five minutes ago, had said _By the Angel_, hadn't he?

The black-haired boy pointed to the shattered mirror. "That was a semi–corporeal Cinereus demon, who has either killed or possessed the boy–"

"Christopher."

"I don't care. You are at the London Institute for Shadowhunters. You do know what a Shadowhunter is, right? By your last name..and the fact you know about the Angel.."

He trails off as Sara fervently shakes her head. "Okay. I am Elias Verlac -call me Eli."

"Hello, Eli." Sara stands. "Now if you'll allow me to leave."

"I can't do that."

"And why might that be?"

Eli shudders. "Stop talking like that. You sound like an old book. Anyways, I've got no clue how that thing worked-just how to break it." he smiled in a way that sent a shiver down Sara's spine. "I excel at breaking things."

"Do you have a repair helper?"

"I'll ask Andrew to work on it, right away. He's our resident genius." Eli smiles at her, but she thinks it seems rehearsed. "Hello, Sara Townsend. Welcome to the Year of Our Angel 2099. You had better come with me."

**A/N aaaand... SCENE! EEP this was fun to write... I hope I got the dates right, because Christopher and Anna were in the CP2 genealogy.. Eli Verlac is my OC, as is Sara, so...yeah. Review to tell me what you think!**

**Oh, and cdunn30643– no, this is not about you.**


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